


instant crush

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me get this straight.” Gerard takes a drag of the cigarette in his hand and leans against the side of the bus, looking like some broody teenager. Patrick has no doubt he’d look cool if he was in his own body, but his actions just make Patrick look like that nerdy kid in high school trying to fit in with the popular crowd. “Last night I wished I knew how to deal with Pete Wentz, and overnight we’ve somehow switched bodies.” </p><p>“Yeah, that’s about right.” Patrick sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Look, I know this kind of sucks—”</p><p>“This is <i>so</i> fucking cool!” Patrick jumps at the sudden exclamation, and when he stares at Gerard, he can tell from the blatant excitement on his face that Gerard hasn’t heard a single thing Patrick’s said. “No, really, this is just like a fucking comic book, man!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	instant crush

See, the thing is, Patrick wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation if it wasn’t for Pete and his raging libido. Warped Tour is supposed to be fun, right? It’s a true testament to how far they’ve come as a band, and until now, Patrick still can’t wrap his head around how many of these kids actually know their songs. Okay, so with the number of bands actually on this tour, not to mention the alcohol that is just _everywhere_ (Patrick’s accidentally stumbled upon more secret stashes of bottles than he cares to admit. It’s probably what life was like during the Prohibition), some inter-band relations were bound to form. 

Here’s how it is: he expected Pete to hook up. They all did, really. But if there’s something he knows about Pete, which, in retrospect, he _also_ should have expected, it’s that Pete will choose to defy everyone’s preconceived notions whenever no one wants him to. Which is why instead of hooking up with a random tech or tour manager or whatever, Pete gets himself into a relationship. It’s a complicated, liable-to-end-in-heartbreak-and-angsty-love-songs-Patrick-will-have-to-sing-every-night relationship, but it’s still the most stable one he’s been in so far. And Patrick is totally happy for him. Seriously, he is. God knows how hard the last few months have been for Pete, for all of them. But when Patrick expressed said theoretical happiness to the universe, this did not extend to him getting locked in their small, cramped back area while Pete gets it on in the front lounge. 

First of all, who even hooks up in the front lounge? There are windows all over the place. Literally anyone could just walk inside. Patrick doesn’t even know what Pete did to get rid of their driver for the night. He doesn’t even know if Pete _bothered_ to get rid of their driver for the night. There’s some creepy kind of comfort in knowing that someone else might be sharing Patrick’s pain. And while Pete isn’t shy about his body, like, at all, Patrick doesn’t think he’d be cool with just anyone seeing him in action. Second, Pete’s pretty much blocked off their bus for the night. So Patrick’s chances of being rescued anytime soon are kind of next to nothing. Last he saw, Joe was over by the Academy’s bus drinking with some of the techs and Andy was hanging around with a bunch of his edge friends. They probably won’t be back for another few hours, and while that’s probably a good thing for Pete, it spells out despair for Patrick. Honestly, this would only happen to him. 

“Goddamn,” Gerard says, mouth curled in a grimace, “if I wasn’t so grossed out, I think I’d be really fucking impressed by their stamina.” 

Third reason why everything sucks and Pete is an asshole? Patrick is trapped in their small, cramped back area with _Gerard Way_ , older brother of the guy Pete is currently doing on their tour bus floor, oh, and also the guy Patrick happens to have a massive crush on. He’s talking, like, middle school big here. There’s some karmic force out there that’s got it in for him, he thinks. Because while he had been too busy warning Pete about the dangers of falling for Mikey Way, of falling for someone on a tour that only spanned an entire summer, he didn’t notice that his feelings for the older Way were heading somewhat steadily in the same direction. 

Which is kind of completely unfair, considering the fact that Patrick never even asked for this. He joined the band because he loves music more than anything. That’s it, that’s all it’ll ever be. He’s never been in it for the fame or the money or whatever else people think comes with the title of being a rockstar. He doesn’t even consider himself one, honestly. He’s way too shy and awkward to be a frontman, preferring to let their music do the talking for him. Pete pretty much handles all the onstage audience interaction and that works for him. 

So it was really off-putting when he realized he had developed feelings for basically one of the most talented and unattainable men on tour, technically jumping from one cliché to another. It’s not like he can help it, though. Gerard is just _something_. When he talks, it’s impossible not to listen. His entire being exudes this magnetic quality that draws people to him, and the best part is that he has no idea. Patrick’s watched their set more times than he can count, but he never stops being equally jealous and in awe of how well Gerard works the stage. It’s kind of inspiring but something he’s never bothered putting into practice. He could never pull off Gerard’s theatricality, anyway. 

Patrick can pretty much chalk all this up to the Bamboozle Festival. He’d been aware of My Chem ever since the last Warped, but it was really during the two days in Jersey that their bands had started to click. Pete had already been eyeing Mikey long before then (something Patrick doesn’t really like thinking about, a couple of lines on their latest record seem to have implications he’d rather not get into), and Patrick had stood by his side like a long-suffering caretaker, the memories from Pete’s _incident_ still fresh in his mind. During one of Pete’s visits to the MCR tour bus, he and Mikey had disappeared into the back area, leaving Patrick alone on one of the couches. The door opened letting in a gust of air, and when it closed, Gerard Way was standing in front of him, looking confused and windswept. Patrick remembers him pushing the hair away from his face and taking one look at the bunk area as comprehension dawned. 

“Hi,” he said, surveying him curiously. “I’m Gerard.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick responded absently. Then when the meaning of his words sank in, he winced. “I mean—”

Gerard actually giggled, and Patrick remembers blinking in confusion when a sudden rush of warmth flooded his insides. “Dude, it’s fine.” Gerard waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I know who you are, too, for the record. I just thought we should keep up with the pretense of propriety or some shit.” 

Patrick refused to do something stupid, like blush, because of someone like Gerard Way actually knowing who he was. Instead he said, “Well, since your brother and Pete are back there doing God-knows-what, I would say that all pretenses are down.” 

“That is very true.” Gerard took a seat next to him, and Patrick tried to ignore the heat radiating from his body. “Do you wanna talk about music like the slaves to our jobs that we are?” Then he smiled, beaming at Patrick with wide eyes and a mouth full of these tiny teeth, and Patrick thought, _Well, fuck_. 

That afternoon had passed by in a blur of conversations about music and art and everything else Gerard could think of. He jumped from topic to topic, his hands gesticulating wildly, the passion in his voice evident no matter what he was talking about. Patrick could barely keep up at the time, but he remembers leaving with the distinct impression that he wanted to learn more. Then the tour ended and they went their separate ways, and Patrick could almost mistake the feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about that day as simple hero worship. 

But then Warped happened and Pete and Mikey had become PeteandMikey and Patrick found himself in dire need of a new best friend. At first, hanging out with Gerard had been more of a convenient thing for both of them. Patrick doesn’t have a problem with parties and alcohol, but the inner introvert in him needs more time to recover than most people. Gerard, newly sober, tries to stay away from the whole scene in general to resist the temptation. They’ve taken to hanging out with each other most nights, tucked away in the back corners of each other’s buses, talking music and everything in between. The familiar feeling of awe had started creeping back, and when Patrick finally acknowledged exactly what it meant, he was in over his head. He figures it won’t be a problem because Gerard is so far out of his league that he’d never act on it, anyway. 

“This is getting real fuckin’ awkward.” Gerard’s voice pulls Patrick back into his very uncomfortable reality. A telltale sound floats in from the front area and both of them wince. “I mean, Mikes and I are close and all? But I really never needed to hear what he sounds like getting his dick sucked, you know?” 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Patrick replies automatically. “Pete doesn’t do anything below the waist.” 

Gerard’s face morphs into a truly distressed expression, lips curled over his teeth and eyebrows furrowed together. Patrick gives himself a mental slap on the head. Way to go, Stump. He’s fairly certain traumatizing someone is on a list of things called How _Not_ To Turn Someone On. 

“Okay.” Gerard closes his eyes for a bit and then peers around at the mess of stuff surrounding them. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and we’re gonna talk about something else.” His eyes fall on the stack of comics he brought over with him after their respective shows, and he grabs one at random. “We’re gonna talk about the Doom Patrol. Do you know anything about them?” 

Patrick shakes his head and Gerard grins. “Prepare to be educated, Young Stump. So…” He launches into his discussion, momentum building until Patrick can practically see the energy coming off from him in waves. It’s the same kind of thing that Gerard expels during shows, and Patrick can feel himself becoming engrossed in the story, can almost pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist, and it’s just him and Gerard compressed in this one moment. 

“…and it’s pretty much like, they’re the downtrodden and fucking oppressed, but it’s not because of their powers. Not like how most superheroes are, like the X-Men or something. No, they’re ostracized because of who they are as _people_. So, it’s like, if people as fucked up as them can become superheroes, who is to say people as fucked up as us can’t become musicians?” Gerard takes a deep breath and pauses. “Not that you’re fucked up,” he adds, seeming to remember he actually has an audience. 

“I don’t think you’re fucked up, either,” Patrick mumbles almost inaudibly. But from the grateful little smile Gerard sends his way, Patrick knows he heard him. 

Gerard opens his mouth to continue his discourse, then abruptly closes it again. “Wait, did you hear that?” 

Patrick shifts in his seat and tilts his head in the direction of the front lounge. The bus is deathly silent. “No.” 

“Exactly.” Gerard gets up and walks towards the door, stopping in front of the little windowpane. “Maybe they’re finally gone.” He squints, trying to see outside, then a strangled noise comes from somewhere in his throat, and what little color he already has drains away from his face. 

“What?” Patrick demands, watching Gerard sink back onto the seat in front of him. “What’s going on?” 

Gerard adopts the look one might have when delivering very bad news. “I hate to break it to you,” he says, “but your best friend is officially a below the waist kind of guy now.” 

Patrick cringes and Gerard eyes him sympathetically. “Do you want to hear about Crazy Jane and her alternate personalities?” he asks kindly. 

Patrick can only nod in reply.

—

Later (much, much later), Pete and Mikey have finally exhausted themselves and vacated the premises. (Although Patrick privately thinks it has less to do with actually running out of drive and more to do with the fact that if Andy comes back and finds out what they did to the floor, there will be actual hell to pay.) When the door closes and the bus is finally enveloped in blessed, non-sexual silence, Gerard stands up and stretches. 

“Fucking finally,” he says with a yawn. Patrick tries not to watch the way his shirt is riding up a little. “I thought we’d be stuck here forever.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees as Gerard sits back down. “I don’t think I’ll be looking Pete in the eye for a while.” Which is really unfortunate considering Pete’s almost dire need for physical affection, and the fact that Patrick is usually the main target for his stealth cuddle attacks. 

“Really?” Gerard cocks his head to one side, looking confused. His hair falls into his eyes, and Patrick has to resist the urge to move it for him. “I’d have thought you’d be used to this kind of thing. Doesn’t he do this a lot?” 

“Not in front of me, usually,” Patrick replies quietly, watching the way Gerard’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “He just really likes your brother.” 

Gerard snorts derisively. “I find that hard to believe.” He notices the slight frown on Patrick’s face and his tone changes. “Sorry. I know he’s your best friend, but, it’s just, that’s _Pete Wentz_ , you know? His name means something. Don’t get me wrong, he’s smart and everything, fuck me if your lyrics aren’t proof of that, but that’s my brother and—”

“You don’t approve,” Patrick finishes for him. The sad truth is, he’s used to this kind of thing. He’s used to people boxing Pete into this stereotype that’s been created for him, never getting to see the guy Patrick’s gotten to know so well. “It’s fine. I get where you’re coming from. You don’t want Mikey to get hurt.” Patrick wants to defend Pete until he’s blue in the face, wants to tell Gerard that he’s seen the way Pete looks at Mikey, and there’s no way Mikey is coming out of this whole thing as the worse off one. But the reality of it is, Gerard is Mikey’s brother, and that’ll always give him a right to be wary. 

“You don’t think much of my brother, either, do you?” Gerard’s eyes are sharp but not accusing. “It’s fine if you don’t,” he adds quickly. “It would be pretty fucking hypocritical of me to get mad.” 

“That’s not it,” Patrick says because it’s the truth. Mikey is fine. He likes how happy Pete is when he’s around him, likes that his smiles have started to look less forced and more real. “I just wish I knew him a bit more, that’s all. Pete tends to jump headfirst into everything, and I don’t wanna see him crash and burn.” Patrick can still remember everything about that day. He remembers the phone call and Pete’s mom and the hospital visits. He can pinpoint the exact moment when this stark fear nestled itself deep into his mind, telling him that maybe Pete will try again someday. He can’t let that happen. He won’t. 

“We’re just a couple of babysitters, aren’t we?” Gerard grins at him, and the brightness of it does a lot to ease some of the seriousness. Or maybe Patrick is just that far gone on him. “A right fucking pair. Well, I don’t know how you deal with Wentz, but I salute you for that.”

Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know how to be around Mikey, so I guess I’ll give you props for that one.” 

Gerard laughs. “Well, I didn’t exactly get a say in the matter. But I’ll take the compliment.” 

There’s a pause, and then Patrick says, “I wish I knew how you did it.” He starts when he realizes that Gerard has echoed his words at the exact same time. The light in the back area flickers for a second, dimming a little, and outside the window, the distant rumble of thunder sounds. 

“Wow.” This time, Gerard’s eyebrows actually disappear underneath the hair on his forehead. He looks suitably impressed. “Next thing you know, lightning will strike the bus and we’ll all develop superpowers or some shit.” Patrick doesn’t think he’s imagining the almost hopeful look on Gerard’s face. 

“You wish.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “You watch too many sci-fi movies.” But even he has to admit, it’s suddenly really fucking eerie in here. 

“I can’t argue with you there.” Gerard stands up and makes his way towards the door. “I better get out of here before the happy couple comes back in for round two.” He frowns a little. “Or fifteen.” 

“Fuck off,” Patrick says, but there’s no real heat behind his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Once Gerard leaves, Patrick crawls into his bunk, suddenly bone tired. He buries his head underneath his pillow and waits until the exhaustion rolls over him as sleep comes and pulls him under.

—

When he wakes up the next morning, every cell in his body is screaming for a cigarette. Patrick groans and turns over, trying to ignore the draft that is coming through from the gap in his bunk curtains. He needs to talk to Joe about keeping the air conditioning up so high. He tries to go back to sleep, but the need for nicotine is making his mouth dry and his head starts to throb. Fuck this. 

It’s weird. Patrick’s had a few cigarettes here and there, mostly as a social thing, but he’s never felt any pressing need for it, not like this. His hand automatically finds its way underneath his pillow, closing in around the pack that’s kept there. Then he freezes. He doesn’t keep any cigarettes under his pillow. He doesn’t keep any cigarettes, period. 

Slowly, he uncurls his hand from where it was clenched around the box, and he brings it up to his face to examine it. Then he feels his blood run cold. The hand is front of his face is wide and fine boned, the nails bitten down to stubs, the skin around them smooth and pale. There are no calluses from years of drumming and playing the guitar. It’s not his hand. 

“What the fuck?” Patrick whispers, and the voice that comes out from his mouth is higher and rough with sleep and _that is not his voice_. 

On the verge of a panic attack, Patrick immediately rolls out of bed, letting out a muffled groan when his face hits the carpeted floor. His bunk isn’t on the last row, it’s on the second. He pushes off and gets up, wandering into the bathroom. The counter is strewn with toothpaste (no one in his band uses this brand), hair straighteners (they’ve only got one), and all these other things he’s never seen. He musters up the courage to look into the mirror, and when he finally does, he has to stifle a scream. 

Gerard Way’s face stares back at him, the horrified expression on it only making things a million times more surreal. His hair is a mess, his eyes are puffy with sleep, and his mouth opens and closes in shock. Patrick rubs his eyes, and watches with an eerie kind of fascination as the body reflected in the mirror does the same. He’s Gerard. He’s in Gerard’s body. This has to be a dream. 

Correction, he notes, finally moving his eyes away from his face. He’s in Gerard’s _shirtless_ body. Gerard’s torso is all pale and lean, and Patrick moves in closer to examine his reflection even more. Then he pauses when he realizes he’s a little hard underneath the Batman boxers. This is beyond fucked up. He’s actually turned on by _himself_. But he’s not Gerard, is the thing. He’s still Patrick and he just happens to be trapped in the body of the guy he’s actually thought about inappropriately more than once. 

Before he can further contemplate the absolute level of fucked up this whole thing is, the door to the bathroom bangs loudly. “Gee! Open up!” Frank’s voice yells from the other side. “If you’re fucking jerking off in there, you better clean up!” 

Patrick grabs the door handle and swings it open wildly, just missing hitting Frank in the face. “Sorry,” he says, Gerard’s apologetic tone coming out of his mouth. “I wasn’t doing anything.” He looks up at Frank, then blinks because, okay, wow, Frank is completely naked. 

Frank doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he lets it go. “Sure. Hurry up and get dressed, dude. We’re on at two today.” He sidesteps Patrick and makes his way into the bathroom, closing the door on Patrick’s shocked face. Right. They’re on a tour. Patrick has to actually go and perform in front of people with the wrong band, singing the wrong songs, all the while looking like the wrong person. 

Yeah. There’s definitely something that’s out to get him.

—

Getting dressed is a fucking chore all on its own. It’s a hundred degrees outside, and Gerard doesn’t seem to own anything that isn’t black and Church-appropriate. Even worse, everyone in this band seems to favor similar kinds of clothes. Patrick had been looking through this pile for ten minutes until he realized it belonged to Bob. Thank God he figured it out before Bob came and found him, though. He doesn’t really feel like being punched in the face today. 

Additionally, Patrick is overheated, like, ninety percent of the time, and he doesn’t really want to walk around feeling like he’s being baked by the sun. Not the mention the completely unflattering shade of red his skin turns. He rifles through the stack of clothes, completely messing it up, until he finally comes across a blue tank top that looks like it was thrown in there by accident. He slips it over his head, tugs on the first pair of pants he finds, then goes to make his way to the door. He needs to find Gerard. 

In the front lounge, he almost bumps into Mikey. His hair is curling a little over his ears and he’s wearing these huge glasses that aren’t the ones he normally has on. Mikey stares at him, looking a little surprised when he sees Patrick, and for a split second, Patrick wonders if maybe Mikey can tell. Maybe that really intense stare he wears on his face all the time is actually some kind of mutant X-ray vision thing, and, okay, he’s clearly been spending way too much time with Gerard. 

“Are those…” Mikey trails off. “I don’t think I’ve seen your shoulders since we were kids.” 

“So that’s what they look like,” Ray adds from where he’s standing by the coffee maker. “I was starting to wonder if I’d ever see them.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “It’s a million degrees outside. No way am I wearing something with sleeves today. Besides, I sleep shirtless.” 

“Uh, no you don’t,” Mikey replies, exchanging a look with Ray. “Not unless you’ve been jerking off. Which, by the way, you pretty much just admitted to.” Mikey’s expression hasn’t shifted, but Patrick observes the way his mouth is curled upward in amusement. Ray is snickering behind him. 

“TMI,” Bob growls, entering the lounge. “Fucking seriously. TMI.” 

Patrick feels his cheeks burst into flames. “Yeah, I’m just gonna…” He motions to the door and hurries outside. 

It’s as hot outdoors as Patrick knew it was going to be, the sun beating down on him from overhead as he stalks across the parking lot trying to ignore the weird looks he’s getting from passing techs and other band members. When he finally reaches the Fall Out Boy bus, he wastes no time punching in the access code, hurrying inside to bask in the cool air. 

The front lounge is empty save for Pete, who is sitting on one of the couches, Sidekick open in front of him. In all the confusion from this morning, Patrick had completely forgotten about the events that transpired in this very room last night. Looking at Pete now, he feels slightly sick. He clears his throat a little and Pete jumps up a bit. 

“Gerard,” he greets, looking confused and wary. “How’d you get the code?” 

Oh, shit. “Um.” Patrick racks his brain trying to think of an appropriate reason. “Mikey gave it to me?” 

“Oh.” Pete nods. “Yeah, I figured.” Patrick tries not to let his obvious relief show. “What are you doing here? If you’re planning on giving me the hurt-him-and-I’ll-kill-you talk, I gotta tell you, Frank already beat you to it. True, we were drunk and he mentioned something about tattooing me to death, but I was thoroughly freaked out. I promise.” 

“No,” Patrick replies. “I mean. Not today. Look, I just need to talk to Ger—Patrick really quick. It’s, um, it’s a singer thing.” 

Most people would have found that reason to be weird or pretentious. Most people would have been suspicious or would have basically seen right through it. Luckily for Patrick, Pete is not like most people. “Okay.” He shrugs. “Trick!” he calls out. “Gerard Way is here to see you.” Then he winks at Patrick suggestively. “You look so good in blue.” 

“Fuck off, Wentz,” Patrick answers automatically, rolling his eyes. Trust Pete to try and insert their lyrics in casual conversation. Patrick’s convinced he’s spent the last four years singing random snippets from discussions Pete’s had during that time. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Pete lets out his braying laugh. “I’ll be on your bus if you need me,” he adds, walking out the door. 

There’s a crash, the muffled sound of a body hitting the floor, and then Patrick hears his own voice mutter, “What the fuck?” The sound of it sends a tremor running through him, and he feels the hair on his arms stand up a little. Before he knows it, he’s standing in front of his own body, watching the same array of confused emotions flit across his own face. 

“Oh, God,” Gerard says eventually, eyes widening. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

—

“Let me get this straight.” Gerard takes a drag of the cigarette in his hand and leans against the side of the bus, looking like some broody teenager. Patrick has no doubt he’d look cool if he was in his own body, but his actions just make Patrick look like that nerdy kid in high school trying to fit in with the popular crowd. “Last night I wished I knew how to deal with Pete Wentz, and overnight we’ve somehow switched bodies.” 

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Patrick sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Look, I know this kind of sucks—”

“This is _so_ fucking cool!” Patrick jumps at the sudden exclamation, and when he stares at Gerard, he can tell from the blatant excitement on his face that Gerard hasn’t heard a single thing Patrick’s said. “No, really, this is just like a fucking comic book, man!” 

Patrick gapes at him. Gerard’s overall enthusiasm for certain things is something that he usually really likes, but he never thought he’d see the day where he wished that Gerard was a little bit more tied down to reality like the rest of the world. 

“What?” Gerard asks, noticing the look on Patrick’s face. “Even you gotta admit, this is super fucking badass.” 

“It’s not gonna be so badass when I have to perform with your band in four hours!” 

“Oh.” Gerard’s face falls and Patrick feels a little guilty for ruining his excitement. “Fuck, that’s gonna be a problem.” 

Patrick exhales. “I mean. I know most of your songs. I’m sure if I brushed up on some of them, I’d be okay.” 

“Really?” Gerard smiles at him, and even though it’s his own face that’s doing it, Patrick can feel himself blush a little. This is seriously messed up. “That’s awesome, dude. I know most of your songs, too, so.” 

Patrick nods, some of the earlier tension draining away. Maybe this won’t be so bad. He’s got Gerard’s voice, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell. For a minute, he breathes deeply, trying to hold onto the feeling that maybe they’ll get out of this whole mess alive. Then something occurs to him, and the tension comes back in full force. “Fuck.” 

Gerard glances at him, looking alarmed. “What? What, ‘fuck’? That didn’t sound too promising.” 

Patrick swallows the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the rising panic that is threatening to overflow. “I play the guitar.” 

The back of Gerard’s head falls against the side of the bus with a _thump_. “Shit,” he says, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, his expression is panicked. “Dude. _Dude_. The only reason Frank is in the band is because I couldn’t sing and play guitar at the same time!” 

“Hey!” Joe’s head sticks out of the window and he looks down at where they’re standing. “I’m gonna tell Frankie you said that!” 

“Aw, Joe, I was only kidding!” Gerard yells back. Joe’s head disappears. 

“Congratulations,” Patrick drawls. “Frank may actually leave the band now and _then_ you’ll be forced to play the guitar.” 

“So not the time for that.” Gerard looks about as dismayed as Patrick feels. “What are we going to do? Any ideas?”

“Well,” Patrick says, “it’s my body. I’m sure you’d be able to play if you didn’t overthink it.” 

“Maybe,” Gerard replies, “but not today. Fall Out Boy goes on right after My Chem. There’s not enough time to test that theory. Can’t we ask someone to sub for you?” 

Patrick racks through his brain, trying to think of anyone who’d be willing to learn seven songs in the space of a few hours. While everyone on this tour is undoubtedly talented, he doesn’t really think anyone would be up to the challenge, and frankly, he wouldn’t blame them. He’s about to concede defeat, when all of a sudden, Gerard perks up. 

“Ray!” 

“Ray?” Patrick echoes. 

Gerard nods eagerly. “Guy’s some kind of guitar god, dude. He’d so be down to do this.” 

“Okay.” Patrick tries to steady his breathing. He’s never been more stressed out in his life, and it’s barely even noon. “You can go with me back to your bus and ask him, and I’ll try and brush up on some of your lyrics.” 

“Awesome,” Gerard says, immediately walking in the direction of the MCR bus. “Let’s go.” 

“Um, Gerard?” 

He turns around. “What?” 

Patrick looks pointedly at the T-shirt and boxers he usually wears to sleep that Gerard still has on. “You wanna get dressed first?” 

“Oh.” Gerard looks down and takes in his appearance. “Yeah, okay,” he replies, smile widening in a way Patrick isn’t sure he likes the look of. “I meant to get back at you for showing off my shoulders to the world, anyway. Guy’s gotta have some secrets.”

—

Patrick fully expects Gerard to take advantage of being able to choose from his meager selection of clothes, but he hadn’t expected what exactly that would entail. Patrick’s only black shirt is about three sizes too small, and it hugs his body in a way that is the precise opposite of flattering. Ditto with the jeans, which takes Gerard almost ten minutes to pull on. To make matters worse, Gerard also finds an old stick of Pete’s eyeliner lying around, and he applies it to his face like a pro. All in all, Patrick looks like a mix between a bad imitation of a goth and an extra from a crappy horror movie. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me go out in public like that,” Patrick mutters when they’re finally outside, practically stalking across the parking lot towards the My Chem bus. “I look ridiculous.” 

“Hey!” Gerard protests. “This is my regular day attire. Don’t knock it.” 

“Well, it works for you!” Patrick exclaims. They’ve reached the bus and he steps aside so Gerard can type in the entrance code. “You’re all…” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, flapping it in Gerard’s direction. “…hot.” 

Gerard pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. “You think I’m hot?” he asks, surveying Patrick with a confused expression. 

“Um.” Fuck, he really needs to watch himself more. Sometimes it’s so easy to forget just how pathetically gone he is on Gerard Way. Luckily, before he can say something that would probably embarrass him more, the door swings open and they let themselves inside. Patrick sighs in relief. 

“Trick!” Pete’s voice comes from somewhere to his left, and when he looks over, he sees his head sticking out from underneath Mikey’s arm. Tangled together on the couch, they look like some two-headed alien. “You look…” His eyes widen slightly. “Wow.” 

Gerard exchanges an uncomfortable look with Patrick before turning to face his brother’s boyfriend. “I lost a bet with Pat—Gerard.” 

“Ah.” Pete nods understandingly. “I lost a bet with Dirty last week. Had to run across the back field naked.” 

Mikey scoffs. “Only because you wanted to do it, anyway.” 

“Hey, don’t lie.” Pete shifts around in his seat so he’s still pressed against Mikey, but facing him. Seriously. Dire need for physical affection. Although Mikey is so bony, Patrick wonders how comfortable Pete really is. “You totally liked it,” Pete continues. “I think that was the first time we—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Gerard interjects loudly, cutting Pete off. Patrick glances at him gratefully. That had been verging into uncomfortable territory. “Where’s Ray? I need to ask him to play with us today.” 

Frank walks into the front lounge, this time fully clothed. “Why?” he asks, catching the tail end of Gerard’s statement. 

Pete speaks up. “Did Joe sprain his hand again? Was he trying to do that thing—”

“No!” Patrick yells. Everyone turns to stare at him and he feels himself flush. “I mean. Uh. Patrick…fell.” 

“You fell,” Frank echoes dubiously, raising an eyebrow at Gerard. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Gerard waves a dismissive hand in the air. Then he remembers their excuse and lets it flop against his chest. “It’s nothing, but I don’t wanna risk it turning into something serious.” 

“Okay,” Frank says slowly. He still looks a little confused but he doesn’t ask any more questions. “He’s in the back studio with Bob. Try and break the news to him gently.” 

Gerard wanders further into the bus, and Patrick settles in one on of the couches, trying to ignore Pete and Mikey giggling beside him. Well, Pete is giggling, anyway. Mikey looks about the same as always, but his lips are curved slightly upward. Gerard had given Patrick his phone on the walk over, and Patrick pulls up a lyrics website, scanning through a list of My Chem’s songs. He figures he’s good for all their singles, but he’s not sure about some of the more unfamiliar ones. 

“What are you doing?” Patrick nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Frank’s voice in his ear; his head is practically on Patrick’s shoulder. Gerard had once described Frank as a tattooed ninja, and Patrick thinks maybe that had some element of truth to it. “Since when do you have to look up the lyrics to ‘Prison’? You can practically sing that song in your sleep.” 

“He _has_ sang it in his sleep,” Mikey interjects, separating his face from Pete’s. Patrick has no idea when they started making out. He resolves to keep his eyes in front of him at all times. 

“Um. Accidents happen?” Okay, Patrick really needs to start coming up with better excuses. Times like these make him aware that he chose exactly the right profession for himself. If he gets any worse at acting like Gerard, he’ll have to tell everyone the truth. 

“Dude.” Frank’s tone is careful and suspicious. Patrick sighs. He may as well come clean. Maybe there’s a chance Frank will believe him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Frank beats him to it. “You’re not using again, are you?” he asks, softly enough so that no one can hear. 

Patrick blinks. He had not been expecting _that_. “What?” 

“You can tell me,” Frank says earnestly. “No fucking judgment, man.” 

Patrick stares at him open-mouthed in response. Great. Patrick sucks at pulling Gerard off so much, he’s suspected of being back on drugs. He is well aware that Frank’s coming from a good place, but he can’t help being a little insulted. For one thing, Gerard is a much stronger person than that. Secondly, the guy’s default mode is weird. It’s somewhat ironic that the one time he starts acting a little normal is when things start to seem suspicious. 

“No!” Patrick hisses, a little too defensive. “No, I’m not, I promise. I just…don’t feel like myself today.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. 

“Okay.” Frank doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he backs off and leaves Patrick alone to continue trying to memorize their lyrics. Pete and Mikey are now entirely horizontal on the couch, and Patrick closes his eyes and tries not to scream in frustration. If he gets through this day without suffering from a mental breakdown, it’ll be a miracle.

—

Ray’s answer, at least according to Gerard, had been a series of confused questions, sentences punctuated by expletives, and then finally, a determined acceptance that resulted in everyone being kicked off the bus so he could practice. 

“It could have been a lot worse, honestly.” Gerard had become significantly more cheerful about the whole thing after Ray agreed. Patrick supposes it’s because he won’t have to do anything that is too out of character for him. “I didn’t even know the guy could swear that much. He must be hanging around Bob a lot.” 

Patrick shrugs in reply. It _could_ have gone a lot worse. Ray could have said no, and then he’d be scrambling to recondition Gerard into learning about ten years worth of guitar playing. “So what are we going to do now?” 

In response to that question, Pete and Mikey appear in front of them. Fucking seriously, _appear_. Gerard blinks at them. “You know the whole Tweedledee and Tweedledum act is starting to get really freaky.” 

Mikey ignores this. “We’ve got a signing at the Samsung tent,” he says. “Well, the four of us do.” 

“Ray isn’t coming?” Patrick asks disbelievingly. 

Mikey rolls his eyes at Gerard. “You’re the one who made him out of be some kind of god. I think he’s trying to prove you right.” 

Pete nods solemnly. “And you,” he says, pointing at Gerard. “Mandatory _Star Wars_ marathon on our bus right now.” 

Gerard’s eyes light up. “I love _Star Wars_!” His eyes narrow. “Wait, it’s not the first one, is it?” 

Pete snorts. “Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s a tossup between _Jedi_ and _Empire_.” 

Gerard looks unwittingly impressed by Pete despite himself. Then Pete darts forward and kisses Mikey, his fingers curled around the back of Mikey’s neck, and Patrick and Gerard groan in unison. “Seriously, you two?” Patrick demands. “You didn’t get enough of that back on the bus?” 

“‘Til tonight do us part, Mikeyway,” Pete calls out, walking backward with a huge grin on his face. Then Gerard tugs him forward, and Pete allows himself to be led back to the FOB bus. Patrick sighs. At least one of them will be okay. 

“Hey.” Mikey’s voice breaks Patrick out of his thoughts. The expression on his face can only be described as warm, and Patrick notes with surprise that he’s actually smiling. It’s the first time Patrick’s seen it, and it’s all because of Pete. “Relax. I mean, the kids’ll be disappointed about Ray, but they’ll get over it. Just draw something or whatever.” 

Patrick feels the blood in his veins freeze. “Draw?” he repeats hoarsely. Patrick had stopped doing anything art related back in sophomore year when his required art classes ended and there was no mandatory need for it anymore. In the ensuing panic about Gerard and his guitar playing, Patrick had completely forgotten that there are a (great, great) host of things Gerard can do that he can't. 

Mikey knocks his bony shoulder against his as they make their way over to where the signing is. The easy familiarity is lost on Patrick. This is probably the most amount of time he’s spent alone with Mikey Way ever. “Dude. You’re, like, the most talented person I know. Don’t forget that.” Beneath the usually blank exterior, Patrick can see how much he means the words. He really does love his brother. It’s enough to make Patrick grin back despite the sick feeling in his stomach. 

He ends up wedged between Mikey and Frank, the long white table in front of him as the only barrier between him and a line of fans. The tent overhead does provide some relief from the sun, but Patrick is still sweating like crazy. Mikey is wearing one of Pete’s hoodies, and he hasn’t so much as complained about the weather. There’s something strange about the Way brothers. 

The signing goes okay, for the most part. He gets a lot of questions about his outfit, and he launches into an extended rant about overheating and the importance of staying hydrated at one point. Fortunately, this isn’t really out of character for Gerard so no one says anything. 

It all goes fine, until one girl, dressed in something similar to what Gerard has on Patrick’s body, asks him to draw her something. 

“Uh, sorry?” Patrick asks, trying to make sure he heard correctly. 

“Could you draw me something?” she repeats patiently, body practically vibrating with energy. “It doesn’t have to be anything good, just whatever is fine.” 

Fuck. _Fuck_. “Um.” Patrick already hates himself for having to disappoint her. In fairness, she had asked him to draw her “whatever,” but he doesn’t think he could hand her a bunch of scribbles and pass that off as something artistic. “I can’t today.” He tries not to watch the way her expression wavers slightly. “My hand is a bit sore and I don’t want to overwork it too much.” 

“Oh, what happened?” she asks sympathetically. 

“He was jerking me off the whole night,” Frank answers, leaning to the side so that his head rests against Patrick’s bare shoulder. “You can understand why it would still hurt now,” he adds, winking. 

“ _What?_ ” Patrick squawks, practically jumping in his seat. His mind is racing. Is Gerard in a relationship with _Frank_? Sure, there’s been some fan speculation, and Frank is kind of stupidly hot with this _smile_ that could power an entire country, and Patrick has seen him naked, but in all the shock, he hadn’t really bothered checking out the goods much, but from what he saw, it’s not like he would mind, but why wouldn’t Gerard have said anything? Then it hits Patrick with all the force of a speeding truck that if Gerard is with Frank, there’s no way he’d have a chance now. Yeah, they’re about the same size, but the similarities end there. After this signing, he is going to find an empty field and wallow for a bit. 

“Oh!” the girl exclaims, ignoring Patrick’s outburst. She sounds positively delighted. She grins at the two of them and nods. “Yeah, thanks so much!” Patrick watches her run off with her signed CD, and he can practically read the post that is sure to be going up on the Internet soon. 

“You…and _me_?” Patrick manages to say once they’re alone. “ _Seriously?_ ” 

Frank bursts out laughing. “Dude, no, what the fuck? It’s just something we do for the fans sometimes, remember? Calm down, you look seriously freaked out.” 

Patrick tries not the let the incredibly blatant relief on his face show. “Sorry, you caught me off guard. I just forgot.” 

Frank turns back to the front, still snickering, and Patrick feels Mikey nudge him. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I know who you _really_ want.” 

And if Patrick did not realize how in over his head he really is, he sure does now. _Note to self_ , he adds internally, _get Mikey to start talking._

—

“No,” Patrick says resolutely, arms crossed over his chest like some petulant child. “There is no way you’re getting me to wear that. It’s _boiling_ ,” he pleads, trying to appeal to Gerard’s human side. 

No dice. “So you’ve said,” Gerard replies, rolling his eyes. He takes a step forward and shoves the bulletproof vest over Patrick’s head. How he manages to do that despite their height difference, Patrick has no idea. It’s probably related to his superhuman ability to never sweat. “You may be dressed like some kind of surfer dude, but you’re going out there as me. And this is my thing.” 

“Fine,” Patrick shoots back. He can already feel the sweat starting to pool underneath the shoulder pads. “But you’re wearing one of my caps later. It’s _my_ thing.” 

“Good luck finding one that matches the outfit,” Gerard counters. Then he digs into the pocket of his jeans (Patrick is honestly surprised that he can fit so much as a thumb in there), and he pulls out a familiar stick. “Makeup time!” 

Patrick considers arguing, but one look at Gerard’s determined expression makes the words crawl back inside his mouth. He’s already fucked up being Gerard enough today. He may as well look the part. Besides, the guy is holding a pointed object in the direction of Patrick’s _eye_. 

“Look up,” Gerard instructs him, and Patrick does. Gerard is suddenly much too close, his breath fanning across Patrick’s face. “So,” Gerard murmurs, drawing a delicate line underneath Patrick’s left eye. “Pete’s got some really interesting commentary on _Return of the Jedi_. We may have gotten into an argument at some point, but he’s pretty okay.” 

Patrick focuses on steadying his breathing. If he concentrates on the little patch of blue sky that he can see from his peripherals, he can almost pretend that he’s not being rendered breathless by _his own body_. The logistics of this are really starting to mess with his brain. “Told you,” he says. “Mikey’s not so bad, either. He really loves you. Oh, and I think I may have seen him smile today.” 

Gerard lets out a little laugh and his breath tickles Patrick’s cheek. Breathing. Regularly. “Well, that’s something you don’t see everyday. Maybe we’re just a bunch of hypocrites,” he relents, moving on to Patrick’s right eye. 

“Yeah.” Breathe. “Maybe. Although,” he adds, suddenly remembering something, “Mikey kind of mentioned something about knowing who you wanted. Care to share?” 

“What?” Gerard is suddenly too far away for Patrick’s liking. He tries to quell the urge to grab him and pull him close again. “Did he say who it is?” 

“No,” Patrick replies slowly, a little stunned by Gerard’s reaction. “I’m only asking in case you’re having some kind of secret summer affair. I don’t really want to get jumped in my sleep.” 

Gerard visibly relaxes. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” His hand comes up again to trace Patrick’s eye in black. “It’s just a crush.” 

Patrick feels something inside him sink. “Okay.” 

“All done.” Gerard steps back to admire his work. From a distance, a megaphone blares out music. “Do you know any vocal exercises?” 

“Not really?” When Gerard shoots him a surprised look, he clarifies. “I auditioned to be a drummer, dude. I don’t have much formal training.” 

“You’re a drummer?” Gerard grins. “That’s awesome, man! You should totally play with us sometime.” 

“Assuming we ever figure out how to get back to our bodies,” Patrick responds dryly. “Do you have any idea how we’re going to do that?” 

Gerard shrugs. “In the movies, there’s usually something we have to do that’ll trigger it. I dunno what the fuck that is, though. It’s not like we’ve got unfinished business with each other.” 

Patrick barely stops himself from blurting out something like, _It’s probably the massive crush I have on you, want to make out and see if that solves anything?_ Instead he says, “Awesome,” injecting as much sarcasm into that one word as he possibly can. “We’re putting the fate of our lives in movies.” 

Gerard cocks an eyebrow at him. “Do you have a better idea?” When Patrick doesn’t say anything, he nods. “Didn’t think so. Okay, I had an awesome vocal coach who taught me all these great exercises. It gives you all this room at the back of your throat. Great for blowjobs, too.”

Patrick proceeds to choke on his own saliva, then tries to cover it up by coughing. Gerard doesn’t seem to notice. He whacks Patrick on the back until he stops wheezing, then beams at him. “Okay, here’s what you do.” 

Gerard takes him through a range of actions that involve him pulling out his bottom lip and then humming indistinctly. They do it at the same time, and while it does actually give his vocal chords a bit of a boost, Gerard looks so ridiculous, Patrick can’t help but laugh. It does a lot to relieve the tension in his body. 

“Gee!” Frank’s yell breaks both of them out of their little bubble and back into reality. He nods his head in the direction of the stage. “Show’s about to start, let’s go!” 

Patrick feels the nerves kick in again at full force, and for a second, he seriously considers throwing up. Then Gerard reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing lightly enough to be comforting, and Patrick feels like he can breathe again. 

Showtime.

—

Walking onstage, despite the difference in band members, will forever be one of the best feelings in the whole world. The roar of the crowd, the harshness of the stage lights, everything that reminds him how lucky he is to have made it this far. They launch into “I’m Not Okay” and Patrick can feel some of the tension within him easing. He concentrates on feeling the melody of the song and getting the lyrics right, feet planted firmly in front of the microphone stand. Beside him, Frank jumps around, and Ray, who had to practically be forced out of their makeshift studio, nods his head along to the beat, hair flying everywhere. It’s a surreal experience. 

Then the song ends and Patrick waits for the next one to start up. But it doesn’t. The kids in the crowd are still cheering like crazy, but no one is saying anything. He waits for Frank or Ray to make some kind of introduction, but they don’t because…because Gerard does most of the talking when they’re onstage. 

_Fuck._ Patrick is so, so fucked. 

“Um,” he says into the microphone, his voice echoing a million times louder than normal. “You sound awesome, Fresno.” He winces internally. That had to be something straight out of a playbook on how to talk during concerts, but whatever. Better than nothing. “This next song is ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’,” he adds, and the crowd erupts in screaming. “Sing it if you know it…motherfuckers.” Patrick wants to die. 

During the whole of their next song, Patrick’s mind races. He _has_ to do something more like Gerard. The kids don’t seem to notice, too into the music to actually complain, but he knows they’re all thinking that something must be off. During the riffs in the song without lyrics, he stands still, hands enclosed around the microphone in front of him. Nothing like Gerard who paces the stage, shouting obscenities at the audience. 

The last note rings out and Patrick tips his head towards the microphone, lowering his voice. “Lock and load,” he growls. Okay, that came out sounding like the voice of Satan. At least this time, the music starts up right away, hard and fast, into “Thank You for the Venom”, one of Patrick’s favorites. He loses himself in the song, and finds himself changing up the tune a bit, going higher on some notes than on the others. It’s probably not protocol, but he can’t help himself. It’s the most fun he’s had so far. 

The rest of the set goes by in a blur, and Patrick thankfully remembers all the words to “Prison”. He knows this is Gerard’s favorite one to go all out on, cocking his hip and running a hand down his body, but Patrick can barely figure out what to do with his hands now that he hasn’t got a guitar. Trying to mimic Gerard Way’s actions may actually send him over the edge. 

“This last song is called ‘Helena’,” Patrick says, and this one gets the loudest cheer yet. He knows how they feel; this is his favorite one, too. “It’s about Gera—I mean, me and Mikey’s grandma. Because Mikey and I are brothers. Right.” 

“What the fuck?” Patrick hears Frank whisper from somewhere to his left. He winces. 

“Sing your fucking heart out, Fresno.” Patrick commends himself for coming up with something Gerard _would_ theoretically say, but the delivery comes out awkward and flat. If he’s going to be performing as Gerard for the next few shows, he’s gotta step it up. 

This time, though, he _really_ loses himself in the song. As the last note rings out, Patrick goes for it, hamming up his voice so that the last “goodnight” comes out loud and clear, echoing around the surrounding field. The crowd goes wild, and at long last, the lights start to dim. 

Patrick had fully expected some kind of backlash from Gerard’s bandmates for his performance. He knew it wasn’t the singing that had been the problem, it was the delivery. He did not, however, expect to be herded into one of the trailers as soon as the show ended, forced onto a chair, and made to listen to some kind of intervention. 

“I asked you this morning if you started using again,” Frank says, pacing back and forth in front of him. It’s the most serious Patrick’s ever seen him. “Gee, if you lied to me, I will kick your ass.” 

“I’m _not_ using again!” Patrick yells. “I’m being honest, what the fuck!” 

“So were you _deliberately_ being yourself tonight?” Ray asks. “Because you usually turn it on during shows.” 

Patrick has literally no idea what they’re talking about. “Turn _what_ on?” 

“You know,” Bob adds, slicing his hand through the air. “Your whole sexy stage persona thing.” 

“ _Sexy?_ ” Frank echoes, and it does a lot to dissolve the tension in the room. “Nice adjective, Bryar.” 

“I will fuck you up, Iero,” Bob growls menacingly. 

“Wait,” Patrick says slowly, trying to come to terms with everything. “You’re not weirded out about how awkward I was onstage?” 

The three of them stare at him, and then start laughing. “Fuck no,” Ray replies. “We were just wondering why you didn’t bother putting on a show for the kids tonight. Thought you might have been on something.” 

Patrick is thoroughly confused. He has honestly no clue what anyone is talking about. _Stage persona?_ Isn’t Gerard that way all the time? There’s certainly never any trace of the awkwardness Patrick displayed whenever Gerard is around him. He considers asking but decides against it. That’s only sure to bring on another round of questioning, and frankly, Patrick’s defended Gerard’s sobriety enough for one day. 

“By the way,” Frank adds, looking at him. “That was some amazing singing you did tonight. Like totally fucking better than normal. I didn’t even know your voice could go that high.” 

As Patrick tries to come up with a response, another blast of music sounds, and Ray dashes out to prepare for Fall Out Boy’s set. Frank and Bob file out after him, leaving Patrick alone with Mikey. Mikey had been worryingly silent throughout the entire ordeal. He had just stood passively at the back, arms crossed over his chest, watching Patrick through his glasses. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks finally. 

“Yes, Mikey,” Patrick says. He can’t help sounding a little exasperated, even though he knows Mikey’s got the most right out of all of them to be worried. “Am I really that awkward usually?” 

Mikey snorts. “I’m not going to dignify a question that stupid with a response.” Patrick opens his mouth to retort, but then Mikey looks towards the door and adds, “I’m going to watch Fall Out Boy’s set. Wanna come?” 

“You really like him, don’t you?” The words come out of Patrick’s mouth before he can stop himself. He’s pretty sure he knows what the answer is going to be, but something in him still needs that verification. 

“Not this again,” Mikey mutters under his breath, and Patrick wonders how many times Gerard’s directed the question at him. “Yes, Gee,” he drawls, mimicking Patrick’s earlier tone. “I really fucking like Pete Wentz. We are so madly in love, it would disgust you. Can we go now?” 

Patrick notices the way Mikey’s body is vibrating with anticipation, the way his eyes keep sliding over to the door, outside, to where Pete is, and Patrick figures that alone answers his question more than Mikey’s words did. “Yeah, let’s go.”

—

To his surprise, Gerard actually does wear one of his caps. It’s red, clashes terribly with his hair, and paired with the all-black ensemble, he looks like a backup dancer from a Spice Girls music video. But it’s still his trademark look, and Patrick hopes in vain that alone will deviate the attention away from the outfit he has on. 

Watching from the sidelines with Mikey and the rest of My Chem, Patrick feels a little wistful as his band settles onstage. He wonders if maybe Gerard had felt the same thing tonight. Even though neither of them asked for this, he can’t help but feel a little like he’s missing out. 

They open right away with “Sugar”, Ray and his enormous hair taking up the space behind where Gerard is standing. The kids had been ecstatic when Pete called him out onstage, and watching how well they work together, Patrick feels some of his nerves dissipate. Gerard has it a lot easier than he did, after all. All Gerard needs to do is remember the words to the songs, Pete will take care of the rest. 

When their first song ends, Pete makes to talk into the microphone. “Fresno, you fucking amaze me.” The crowd screams in response. “This next song—” 

“Wait, wait, hold up.” Gerard pulls the microphone off the stand, and stalks across the stage. Patrick feels his body freeze. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? “I want all you motherfuckers in the audience to fucking scream for me. Can you do that?” 

If Pete is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Patrick Stump, everybody!” he yells cheerfully, his voice getting drowned out by the noise of the audience. From the other side of the stage, Patrick watches Andy and Joe exchange confused looks. He doesn’t blame them. This is out of character to the _umpteenth_ degree. 

Despite everything, the next few songs go over really well. Gerard knows most of the lines, but he screams some of the words and makes the crowd sing parts of it more than they usually do. During the sections with no lyrics, he prowls around the stage, yelling at the kids to “Jump, motherfuckers!” It’s easily one of the most lively shows they’ve ever had. 

“Before we do this next song,” Gerard says, face a shade of red that goes wonderfully with the cap. Patrick is not entirely convinced that there isn’t going to be some post about Patrick Stump resembling a human tomato on the Internet tomorrow morning. Some of the things the fans come up with are amazing. “I want all the boys in the audience to take your motherfucking shirts off, and swing them over your motherfucking heads. Take them off! Ray Toro, play me something!” 

Ray complies, his fingers strumming something low and intense, while Patrick sees a good number of boys in the audience follow what they think Patrick Stump is telling them to do. Oh, God, he is going to die. There are cameras everywhere. There will be articles written about how he condones public nudity. He is going to _kill_ Gerard. 

When the area surrounding the stage is full of blurs of color from the different shirts, Gerard stands in the center and sings out the first line to “Where Is Your Boy”. The rest of the band kicks into gear, the crowd goes crazy, and when Patrick tears his eyes away from the stage for the first time since his band’s set started, he sees Mikey mouthing along to all the words, eyes glued on Pete. 

After what feels like an eternity, they get to “Saturday”. As Pete’s turn to sing nears, from beside Patrick, Mikey suddenly steps out onto the stage. The screaming ratchets up to impossible levels as Pete presses his bass into Mikey’s hands. Patrick’s the only one who notices how their fingers seem to linger on each other’s for a beat longer than necessary. 

“Mikey Fucking Way!” Pete yells, then launches into his part, coming up to stand beside Gerard as the song nears its end. When Pete throws an arm around him, Gerard grins, and Patrick feels himself relax a little. 

As the last few notes come on, Gerard suddenly stalks to the front of the stage, cocks his hip out, and does this _thing_ with his body that Patrick didn’t know he was even capable of actually doing. He has to admit, though, it doesn’t look that bad. 

Finally, the lights flicker off, the crowd disperses, and the techs begin to swarm the stage. Patrick feels his feet move on their own accord, making his way towards where Gerard is still standing, panting slightly. He’s still not exactly sure what he wants to say. Before he has a chance to decide whether or not his speechlessness is a good or bad thing, Pete suddenly materializes in front of the two of them. 

“Trick,” he breathes, his eyes wide. “That was… You were… _Holy shit._ If I wasn’t with Mikey—”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence, Wentz.” Mikey comes to stand beside Pete, but even Patrick can see his pupils are a little dilated. He doesn’t know whether he should be grossed out or flattered that his body is getting so much positive reception. 

“But he…” Pete starts to babble, and Mikey leads him away, leaving Patrick alone with Gerard. 

“That was fun,” Gerard says, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. _Now _he sweats. “Your songs are fucking awesome, but, God, what a mouthful. I’m pretty sure I was just yelling out random words during ‘Sugar’,” he continues, laughing self-consciously.__

Patrick blinks at him. He still has no words. “Dude, what was that?” he asks in lieu of just continuing to stare at Gerard. 

Gerard shrugs in reply. “Sorry. When I go out onstage, it’s like a switch flicks, you know? I just become this completely different person. It’s fucking crazy.” 

Patrick’s back to staring at Gerard, but this time, it’s in confusion. _Different?_ Before Patrick can ask him what he’s talking about, Gerard goes on. “Anyway, I was just trying to act like a frontman should.” 

“Pete’s frontman,” Patrick argues. 

“Only because you think you’re too awkward to be,” Gerard counters. “Look at me, dude. I’m the perfect example of how awkward a frontman can be.” 

Patrick can feel his eyebrows furrow together in bafflement. “What are you—”

“There you guys are!” Patrick jumps a little as Andy’s voice jolts him back into reality. “Bonfire tonight, let’s go!” 

“Ah, marshmallows,” Gerard says serenely as they make their way towards the far end of the stage where Andy is waiting for them. “God’s greatest gift to the world. Oh, aside from you, Patrick Stump. I think if anyone had to inhabit my body, I’m glad it’s you. Think about it, you could have Frank in here. You think my outfits are weird? The guy would walk around naked if he could. Then you’d have everyone on tour wondering when Patrick Stump became such an exhibitionist.” 

In all the time Gerard’s been talking, Patrick’s blushed, rolled his eyes, snorted, but at the end he has to admit, “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

—

Patrick is a little disappointed when he wakes up the next morning and still sees the world through Gerard Way’s eyes. It’s not like he was expecting anything to magically resolve itself, but he has to admit, he’d been hoping for it, too. At least it’s a free day for everyone, thank God. They’re still making their way around California, and the somewhat stable tour schedule’s given everyone the chance to step back and relax. Unlike Patrick, most people aren’t trying to find a way back to their own bodies, though. 

He dresses in something a little more Gerard-esque today. Which basically means he’s wearing something black. It’s still a T-shirt, though, nothing like the long-sleeved, skintight tops Gerard walked around in for the first two weeks of tour. 

Patrick’s about to head out to his own bus when his phone rings. He and Gerard had decided the night before to keep their own phones, even though they had to make sure no one was around when they used them. There are just some things that really cannot be explained away. “Hello?” 

Gerard’s panicked voice floats through the line. “Dude, you’re blind!” 

Patrick frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

“The world,” Gerard states vaguely in response. “It’s all blurry and shit. It wasn’t like this yesterday!” 

“Seriously?” Patrick rolls his eyes and holds back a laugh. “You just need to change your contacts.” 

“You mean, like, shove shit in my eye? Yeah, no.” 

Patrick sighs. “Lucky for you, I was on my way over there, anyway. I can help you out.” 

“Hurry up,” Gerard demands. “I feel like a fucking grandpa.” With that, he hangs up. 

It’s sweltering outside, but the grounds are a lot more peaceful without a million people running around. Patrick assumes everyone’s making use of the free day to go off somewhere or catch up on some sleep. When he reaches the FOB bus, he climbs inside and finds Gerard seated on the floor, knees pressed to his chest, looking like a kid lost in the mall. 

“Dude,” Patrick says by way of greeting. “You do know that’s where your brother and Pete…you know.” 

“I couldn’t find the couch,” Gerard replies, and Patrick laughs. “This isn’t funny!” 

“It is, a little,” Patrick admits. Then he notices how quiet it is and looks around. “Where is everyone?” 

“Joe and Andy went to get lunch. Pete’s back there with Mikey.” 

“Oh, God.” Patrick wrinkles his nose. “They aren’t doing anything, are they?” 

Gerard looks up at him. “Don’t think so, but you couldn’t pay me enough to check.” Then he smiles, and Patrick is looking at his own smile, dammit, he should not find this whole thing adorable, but fuck it. It’s not like anything about their relationship will ever be normal at this point. “Now, help me see the world again.”

—

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work out.” 

From his spot crowded against the back wall of his tour bus’ minuscule bathroom, Patrick huffs impatiently. “You literally pinch the tip of the lens between your thumb and forefinger, how hard can it be?” 

Gerard turns to face him, his eyes wide. He actually looks a little offended. “Excuse me for being a little afraid of sticking plastic shit in my fucking eye! You are so lucky you have my perfect vision.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, even though he knows Gerard can’t see it. He hopes the act of doing so will convey his impatience somehow. “Your hair falls over your eyes, like, eighty percent of the time. I’m pretty sure that cancels out the perfect vision part. Just do it already.” 

Gerard swallows and picks up the box of Patrick’s contact lenses. Then he puts it back down again. “I can’t do this.” Patrick goggles at him incredulously. 

He is well aware that putting in contacts for the first time can be a little daunting, but he honestly hadn’t expected it to turn into such a spectacle. The conditions they’re in aren’t exactly doing anything to help, either. The bathroom is fucking _tiny_. It barely has the space for one person, let alone two. As a result, he’s practically pushed into Gerard, whose face is much too close and right _there_. 

“Fine.” Patrick reaches forward and grabs the box of his contact refills. “I’ll just do it for you.” 

He grabs Gerard’s chin with one hand, using it to turn his face towards him. Gerard is silent throughout the entire process, breathing quietly in the suddenly tense atmosphere that’s come over them. When Patrick leans forward to slip the new contact in, his breath fans across Gerard’s face, and Patrick can hear the slight hitch in his breathing. 

“Okay, now blink,” Patrick instructs after he’s put the second contact on. Gerard complies, his face still way too close for comfort. 

“Wow,” he says, eyes focused on Patrick. “You look a lot better up close.” 

Patrick snorts. “I’m sorry, but did you just compliment yourself?” 

“Nah.” Gerard shakes his head. “It may be my face, but it’s still you in there. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s what’s on the inside that matters?” he asks, lips quirking upward. 

If that wasn’t the cop-out Patrick was looking for to justify still being ridiculously turned on by this whole thing, he’ll gladly take it, anyway. Let it never be said that Patrick Stump is the kind of man to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I—” He flushes, still hyperaware of just how close Gerard’s face is. Suddenly, the air feels like it's too thick to breathe in, but at the same time, light enough to float through. He leans in, slowly, imperceptibly, and Gerard isn’t moving away— 

“Trick!” The door to the bathroom bangs open, and Pete stands in the entryway, Mikey right behind him. “What are you guys doing in here?” he asks curiously, then his gaze begins to unfocus. “Forget it. You _have_ to come with me into the back lounge, like, now. Ryan sent me the latest demo of their album, and, oh my God, Trick, it’s _amazing_. They’re going to take over the music industry. But Mikey won’t listen to it with me anymore, and I want your opinion, anyway, so please come.” He says all this very fast and without stopping. 

“Yeah, please do,” Mikey adds, rolling his eyes at Gerard. “He’s been listening to it on repeat all morning, and not that the Urie kid can’t sing or whatever, but if I hear another word longer than three syllables, I’m going to smash Pete’s laptop with my Sidekick.” 

Pete nods solemnly. “He will, too. Think of the children, Trick. Think of all the kids who will be deprived of this wonderful music if Mikey breaks my computer.” 

Patrick is pretty sure Panic!’s album will still be released whether or not Pete has the demo on his computer, but he knows that once Pete gets into this state, there’s little anyone can say to him that he’ll actually take into consideration. He nudges Gerard with his elbow, and Gerard clears his throat then nods. “Yeah, awesome. I’d love to.” 

Pete lets out an honest-to-God squeal, and pulls Gerard into the back area, still waxing poetic about their record (at this rate, Patrick wouldn’t be surprised if their next few songs will be written about how awesome Panic! at the Disco is. _That’s_ how gone Pete is on them). He follows Mikey into the front lounge, settling in beside him on one of the couches. Mikey is texting on his Sidekick, and the two of them sit in comfortable silence. Patrick likes this, likes being able to just be around Mikey without feeling awkward or pressed to make conversation. 

After a while, Mikey puts his phone down and glances in the direction of the back lounge. “You should see how excited he is about those songs. Like a kid on a fucking sugar rush or some shit. It’s ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes again, but Patrick notes the underlying fondness in his expression. 

“Mikes?” he asks, feeling a little self-conscious about using Gerard’s nickname. “You think you’re gonna be okay after this whole thing is over?” 

Patrick definitely wasn’t planning on having some kind of emotional moment, but once he’s uttered the words, he realizes he isn’t asking just for Pete’s sake. He knows deep down that Pete is probably going to be a wreck after this, and best friends be damned if Patrick isn’t going to be there to help him pick up the pieces, but he finds that he’s worried about Mikey, too. 

It’s a little comical watching the range of emotions flit across Mikey’s usually serious face. For a second, he bristles, and Patrick almost automatically launches into an apology for prying, before he remembers that it’s not Patrick that Mikey’s seeing, it’s his brother. That alone is enough to make Patrick hold back his tongue in the hopes that Mikey will answer. 

Eventually, Mikey exhales and leans back against the couch, turning towards Patrick with a heavy expression on his face. “No, probably not,” he admits, and Patrick is a little surprised by the stark honesty in his tone. “But I figure this’ll be one of those be-happy-it-happened things, you know?”

And there’s what Patrick is looking for. In all his hesitancy about Mikey, it was mostly based on the fact that he wasn’t sure who would be feeling worse off after the summer had ended and they’d all gone their separate ways. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s enough just to live in the moment and enjoy what they have, rather than focusing on all the experiences they won’t. Mikey gets that, and he’s willing to let Pete have that, too, and that alone is enough to get Patrick to smile at him. 

“Besides,” Mikey continues thoughtfully, “if there’s anyone you should feel sorry for, it’s Patrick. At least you aren’t going to be singing the album of songs that’ll be written about me.” 

It’s another testament to how well Mikey actually knows Pete, how much he’s got him figured out, that the smile on Patrick’s face only wavers a little when he remembers the fact that, yeah, forget Panic!, he’s going to be singing songs that contain thinly veiled metaphors about Mikey Way because Pete wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit him on the ass. (He had a surreptitious look at Pete’s LiveJournal a week ago; the results did not look promising.) 

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Patrick says sincerely. “I like Pete.” 

“You…like Pete,” Mikey repeats dubiously. 

“Yeah, he does.” Gerard’s voice comes from somewhere behind Patrick, and the two of them jump a little and turn to look at him. He’s standing in the doorway that leads to the bunk area, Pete shooting him confused looks from behind. Patrick doesn’t blame him; he has no idea what’s going on, either. 

“Uh. Gerard told me to tell you that he does,” Gerard clarifies, glancing backward to look at Pete. “So, uh, congrats, you’ve got his brother’s approval.” Inside Patrick’s chest, he feels something break open as his heart swells. 

“Okay.” Pete nods. “I had no idea I needed Gerard’s approval, but this is awesome, Mikeyway! Now we can get married!” 

Mikey scoffs, but his eyes are soft. Patrick assumes this is probably the Mikey Way version of making heart eyes. “Sure. Ask for my hand, but I’m not saying yes to anything less than ten carats.” 

“I’ve got an even better idea.” Pete leers at him. “Wanna go see how many places we can make out in before Dirty finds us?” 

Gerard and Patrick both blanch, but Mikey doesn’t seem to notice. “Cool.” He shrugs and then follows Pete outside. 

“Yeah,” Gerard says once they’re gone. He takes Mikey’s vacated seat. “I’m considering taking back my approval for that alone.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Patrick’s pretty sure he’s making his own heart eyes at Gerard right now. “But thanks.” 

Gerard lifts a shoulder. “If it wasn’t so painfully obvious just how into my brother he is, it was also seeing him talk about that album. He really wants those kids to succeed, you know?” 

Patrick nods. Pete may have his moments, but he’s pretty much one of the most genuinely good people Patrick knows. He’s glad Gerard can see it now, too. “How’d you like the album?” 

“Oh, it was great!” Gerard’s eyes immediately light up. “It was so unique. Like, fucking all over the place, but it somehow tied together really well. I’d like to meet these kids someday.” 

“Yeah, they’re basically Pete’s pet project. You’ll have to get him to tell you the story of how he signed them one day.” 

Gerard looks at the door. “Maybe we can manage to separate him from my brother and do that now. You feel like going on a walk?” he asks, grinning. “It may take a while to find them.” 

Patrick can feel himself smiling back. The possibility of even more time alone with Gerard Way? This day is just full of unexpected gift horses. He pushes himself off the couch and lets Gerard lead him outside.

—

The tour continues on, moving from city to city, and everywhere they go, Patrick is still Gerard and Gerard is still Patrick. It’s gotten to a point where Patrick is able to step out onstage as Gerard, and barely feel like he’s about to hurl. He’s gotten significantly better at moving around as he sings, at talking to the audience and getting them to react. Gerard, on the other hand, has toned down significantly from his first attempt at being Patrick Stump. Although he still loses himself when he’s in front of everyone, jumping around and yelling at the kids to “Dance, dance, motherfuckers!” 

Because Pete and Mikey are the Warped Tour’s worst kept secret, no one seems to find the excessive amount of time Patrick and Gerard spend together as a result of their shared situation strange. Despite that, they still aren’t any closer to figuring out what the hell is supposed to trigger them into switching back. Gerard’s taken to looking through his comic books for possible answers, and Patrick’s probably spent more time trawling through the Internet than he ever has. The number of supernatural and occult websites out there are staggering. So far, though, both their efforts have been more or less in vain. 

Ray’s spent the last four days playing with Fall Out Boy onstage, but even Patrick can tell that their excuse about Gerard’s hand is starting to seem suspicious despite Gerard’s attempts at holding a bag of ice over it every now and then for show. (Patrick doesn’t blame anyone. It’s hard to follow through with a swollen wrist story when Gerard’s out there every night, gesticulating so wildly, Patrick’s sure his hand is going to come flying off one day.) To avoid having to answer the questions that are sure to be coming soon, Patrick brings up the subject of trying to recondition his body into playing the guitar. 

Turns out, that idea is probably the best and worst one he’s ever had. For the first time since Patrick’s known him, Gerard seems unsure of himself, looking so much like Patrick on a regular day that it’s actually kind of scary. It’s weird, because this insecure, hesitant version of Gerard is so vastly different from the crazy, loud one that Patrick’s grown used to, that it _should_ put him off. But instead, the way Gerard flushes whenever he misses a note, the way he smiles at Patrick, all anxious and…awkward makes Patrick feel like something’s trying to break its way out of his chest. He didn’t even think it was possible for him to like Gerard more than he already did, but, wow, was he wrong. 

All in all, their lives don’t take a turn for the worse until one day, Ray comes down with something that makes him sound like he’s about to cough up a lung. There’s absolutely no way he can play onstage with Fall Out Boy later, but to make matters worse, he won’t even be able to play with his own band, either. 

“Fuck,” Frank says, pushing the hair away from his face and staring down at Ray, who is huddled on the couch underneath a nest of blankets. “Guess that’s it, then. We’ll have to cancel our set. This fucking blows.” 

“There’s seriously no one we can ask to sub for him?” Gerard asks desperately, turning to look at Patrick with wide eyes. 

Patrick wrings his hands together, feeling slightly guilty about the whole thing. It was their fault Ray had needed to play two sets over the last few days, after all. His immune system had probably shut down in retribution. He looks around the room, taking in the disappointed expression on Frank’s face, and then it hits him. “I can play the guitar.” 

Three pairs of startled eyes stare at him in response. “You…can play the guitar,” Ray manages to wheeze out. He sounds like a chainsmoker. “Gee, the only reason Frank is in this band is because you _can’t_ play the guitar.” 

Frank’s mouth drops open. “I swear to God, if you weren’t already about to cough up your insides, I would be pulling them out for you.” 

Ray waves a hand dismissively, but Patrick can tell that he’s a little scared. No shit, Frank can be really intimidating for someone so tiny. “Let’s not make death threats at the invalid.” Frank glares in reply. 

“No, really,” Patrick interjects quickly. He really doesn’t want to see a fistfight take place, and the look on Frank’s face is not doing anything to help. “I’ve been practicing. I can learn all our songs, it’s no problem.” 

“He has,” Gerard chimes in, probably sensing the brewing tension in the room. He glances at Patrick gratefully. “I’ve been tutoring him. Trying to get him back in the swing of things, you know?” 

The distraction does the job. Ray and Frank exchange wary looks, and Patrick can’t blame them, but the fact is, there’s no one else willing to take over on such short notice, and they’re all basically desperate. No one wants to disappoint the kids. Finally, Ray nods. “Okay. I guess if Patrick’s been teaching you, you can’t be that bad.” The last part of his sentence is drowned out by a round of coughing. 

“Yeah, Wentz has been making you out to be some kind of musical genius,” Frank adds. “I’d hate for you to disappoint us.”

“No pressure then,” Patrick deadpans. Frank grins at him, and Patrick turns around and makes his way into their back studio, Gerard following behind him. 

“Dude, this is awesome,” Gerard says, closing the door. “I’ve never played an instrument onstage ever. The kids’ll fucking flip out.” 

In all the commotion about Ray not being able to play with My Chem, it seems like Gerard had missed a very important detail. “Um,” Patrick says slowly. “You do know that means you’ll have to play the guitar onstage tonight, too, right?”

—

“I can’t do this.” Gerard’s eyes are huge and terrified, and he looks every bit like Patrick in high school that it’s kind of eerie. They’re standing by the side of the stage, obscured in some corner where they can talk without being overheard. It’s almost time for Fall Out Boy’s set, where Patrick Stump will be playing the guitar with his band for the first time in almost a week. 

“Yeah, you can. You kind of have to.” Gerard is gripping the neck of Patrick’s guitar so tightly, his knuckles have turned white. Instinctively, Patrick places a hand over Gerard’s, his thumb running along them until his fingers unclench. “Dude, come on. You’re one of the most talented people I know. You’ve got this.” 

The lights dim and the crowd lets out a deafening cheer. Patrick sees the rest of his band make their way out onstage. “Not when it comes to music, though,” Gerard mumbles, his face pale as he turns to follow them. “That’s you.” Before Patrick has a chance to analyze the implications of that statement, Gerard is gone. 

Patrick walks over to where Mikey and Frank are standing near the front. He listens as Andy’s drumsticks count them off, and before he knows it, they’re jumping right into “Sugar”. As the songs pass and the set goes by, Patrick has to admit that it’s not the worst show they’ve ever had. Gerard’s voice wavers in places that it didn’t before, but he manages to keep on time and no one seems to notice that anything is amiss. That’s not what unsettles Patrick as he stands there, watching that night’s show. 

No, what he’s amazed by is how blatantly different Gerard is tonight. There’s none of that campy energy that people have started to expect from Patrick Stump, that Patrick has to admit, does a lot to improve their performance. Gerard just stands there, holding onto Patrick’s guitar, dutifully singing the songs on cue, letting Pete do all the talking. Pete even pauses every now and then, expecting Gerard to chime in, but he doesn’t. It’s the first time since this whole thing started that Patrick really, truly sees himself onstage. Gerard is so awkward, it’s mind-boggling. He didn’t even know Gerard was capable of being that way. 

When the show ends, Frank immediately turns to Patrick. “Okay, we’re on in about ten minutes. You sure you got this?” 

“Yeah, Frankie.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’ll try my best not to fuck up.” 

From the corner of his eye, Patrick can see Mikey listening intently. He’s got some indistinct word scrawled on his arm in what looks like Pete’s handwriting, and when he hears Patrick’s reply, his eyebrows furrow together. “What are you guys talking about?” 

“Gee’s playing for Ray tonight,” Frank explains. 

If possible, the lines between Mikey’s eyebrows crease even more. “But Frank—” 

“You finish that sentence, and I’ll kick you in the balls,” Frank growls. “Don’t think I won’t, Mikey Way.”

“Please don’t,” says Pete’s voice. He walks over with Gerard at his side, and drapes an arm around Mikey’s shoulders. Or he tries to, anyway. The height difference makes it kind of impossible. “I’m really fond of his balls.” 

“Dude!” Patrick had no idea his voice was capable of sounding this grossed out. “Don’t say that kind of shit about my brother in front of me.” 

“What?” Frank demands. “Since when is Mikey your _brother_?” 

“Uh.” Gerard’s eyes shift from side to side, taking in everyone’s confused expressions, sans Patrick who is trying his best not to laugh. He _so_ wants to hear how Gerard is going to get out of this one. “Brother…like bros…yeah. Mikey and I are bros. I mean, we share a Pete Wentz.” 

“Trick!” Pete exclaims, grinning. “That is so sweet! You know I’m always yours first, though.” 

“It’s true,” Mikey drawls. “He’s only keeping me around for the sex.” 

Gerard blinks, looking a little faint. Then his eyes fall on Mikey’s forearm and he asks, “Why do you have _FUCKED_ written on your arm in black marker?” 

“It’s eyeliner,” Pete corrects, and the smile on his face tells Patrick that maybe he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

Gerard, however, feels the need to state the obvious. “I’ve just stumbled upon one of your weird sex things, haven’t I?” 

Pete starts to snigger, Mikey actually blushes, and the face Gerard makes in response to that makes Patrick burst out laughing.

—

For the first time since switching bodies with Gerard, Patrick steps out onstage without a trace of nerves. He spent the whole day practicing with Ray’s guitar, remembering the feel of holding an instrument in his hands. It feels a bit like coming home. 

The kids are obviously disappointed about Ray’s absence, but when Patrick walks out in front of everyone, guitar held in his hands, the screams start up again, louder than before. He settles in front of the microphone stand, and a surge of confidence rushes through him. For once, he’s doing exactly what he knows how to do. 

It’s easily the best show My Chem has had with Patrick as their unofficial lead singer. The night passes by quickly, and Patrick finds himself taking liberties with this newfound confidence, jumping around with Frank and raising his guitar up in the air. It makes him wonder why he never bothered doing anything like this before. He has fun when he’s onstage, always has, but now he feels like maybe there’s more he can do. It’s the first time he truly understands what it’s like to show parts of yourself in front of people. Ironic how that only happened when he wasn’t being himself. 

When the last song ends, the crowd goes wild, and Patrick can’t help but grin. There’s sweat dripping off him in waves, he can feel his stage makeup bleeding all over his face, but he hasn’t felt like himself in so long that he couldn’t care less. The techs swarm the stage, Mikey makes his way over to where Pete is waiting for him, and Patrick finds himself face to face with Gerard. 

“You were on fire tonight,” Gerard says immediately. “Like, totally fucking ace, dude.” 

“Thanks, it was fun,” Patrick admits. “I’ve never been so much like myself onstage.” 

Gerard laughs. “Funny, that’s exactly what I was thinking tonight.” Patrick frowns at him, and he shakes his head. “Anyway, some of the Avenged Sevenfold techs are making hot chocolate. Nectar of the gods, man. You in? For five bucks, I heard they’ll even throw in some vodka.”

Patrick makes a gagging noise. “Vodka and chocolate?” 

Gerard grins at him as they walk out towards the back field. “What a time to be alive.”

—

Patrick wakes up the next morning, tired and groggy. For once, it’s only partly to do with the fact that Gerard has obviously never trained his body to sleep right. His brain’s been whirring the whole night; he can’t stop talking about what Gerard said about being like himself onstage. Because the Gerard that Patrick saw last night wasn’t like Gerard at all. That was like _Patrick_. If Patrick hadn’t known any better, he would have just assumed that Gerard had been trying to act like him to avoid suspicion. Gerard isn’t awkward and shy and uncertain. He’s full of energy and charisma and can talk a whole room down without batting an eye. Patrick’s really fucking confused. 

The good thing is, it’s another free day for everyone. The tour’s made its way into Canada, and things need a little more time to get set up. Patrick decides to use the day to try and investigate. He crawls out of his bunk, and almost collides with a, once again, naked Frank Iero. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Patrick asks, trying to avert his eyes. Too late. He forgot to take into account their rather large height difference, so looking downwards only gave him an even better view than looking forward would have. “Do you ever wear clothes?” 

Frank blinks at him. “You know I don’t put on clothes before noon.” Right. Like that explains anything. 

Frank’s about to go into his own bunk when Patrick gets an idea. “Hey, Frankie,” he says carefully. “Would you say I’m awkward?” 

Patrick knows the question is kind of out of the left field, so he fully prepared himself for some confused questions, maybe even some suspicion. He did not, however, expect Frank to take one look at him and start laughing so hard, tears start to form at the corners of his eyes. Without replying, he crawls into his bunk, still naked and still howling. 

Patrick decides to leave it at that.

—

“Would you say I’m awkward?” 

Ray looks up from the magazine he’s reading and puts it away, solemn expression on his face. Seriously, from the way he’s staring at Patrick, you’d have thought someone died. “Well,” he says thoughtfully. “Yeah, Gee, I’d say you are.” 

Patrick nods, making to stand up. “Okay, thanks. I was just ask—” 

Ray isn’t done. “Like,” he continues, “if I looked up the word in the dictionary, your picture would be in there.” 

“I get it.” Once again, Patrick tries to stand. “I just wanted—” 

Ray does not appear to have heard or noticed Patrick. “The first time I met you, you were mumbling so much, I wasn’t sure if you were even speaking in English.” 

“Okay, I get it!” Patrick yells, finally startling Ray out of his induced rambling. “I’m awkward as fuck, I get it.” 

Ray nods, face grave. Patrick walks away, head not any clearer than before.

—

“Seriously?” Bob growls. 

“It’s an honest question!” Patrick had managed to corner Bob behind their bus, and he twists his hands together nervously when Bob shoots him another incredulous look. 

“Fucking seriously. You want me to tell you if you’re _awkward_. Fucking hell—” 

“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes!” Patrick yells out over his shoulder, fleeing the scene before this turns into the site of a murder.

—

“Would you say I’m awkward?” Patrick asks, phone pressed to his ear. 

“Oh my God, you’re using again, aren’t you?” The exasperated voice of Brian Schechter floats down the line. “The guys said you’ve been acting weird, but I really hoped it wasn’t this. What is it?” he demands. “Vicodin? Oxycontin? You better tell me the truth, because if we need to pull you out of this tour, we do it _now_.” 

For _fuck’s_ sake. “I’m _fine_ ,” Patrick emphasizes, trying to sound completely normal and not spaced out. “I just really need to know what you think.” 

Brian lets out a relieved laugh. “You sure about that?” Without waiting for Patrick’s reply, he continues. “Yeah, Gerard. You’re pretty much the most awkward person I know. It took months before you even started looking me in the eye.” 

Patrick thanks him and clicks off. He’s more confused than ever.

—

Mikey’s the only one left who Patrick hasn’t had a chance to interrogate. He steps outside, about to make his way over to the FOB bus where he assumes Mikey is, but then he hears his name being called, and when he looks up, he sees Gerard running towards him. There’s a sense of urgency in the way Gerard yells his name, and the somber expression on his face does nothing to alleviate his growing worry. 

“There’s something wrong with Pete,” Gerard says once he’s reached Patrick. Patrick feels his heart drop into his stomach. 

“What?” he demands, fists clenched in anxiety. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s just…lying there. He hasn’t said anything, even Mikey can’t get him to talk. What’s wrong with him?” 

Patrick closes his eyes, tries to control the way his heart feels like its about to pound its way out of his chest, tries to ignore the ringing in his ears. Pete had been so…okay recently. Patrick knows that what goes on with Pete isn’t really something that will ever go away. But being here, being with Mikey, had made him happier than he had been in the last six months. 

“He, um,” Patrick starts. “He has mood swings every now and then. Manic depressive, you know? He’s been pretty good recently, mostly because of your brother, really, but he gets these bad days sometimes.” 

“Okay.” Gerard nods, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward. “Go talk to him, then.” 

Patrick resists, shakes his head, and stays in place. “I can’t.” When Gerard shoots him a confused look, he explains. “Only _Patrick_ can talk to him when he’s like this. You’ve gotta be the one to do it.” 

Gerard sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I hope I can do it. The worst thing would be saying the wrong thing right now. I know it’s not really any of my business, but you have to tell me what happened to him. It might help.” 

Patrick swallows the lump that has formed in his throat. “He tried to kill himself six months ago,” he says, voice tight. “He went off his meds and tried to overdose on Ativan.” Patrick can still remember the exact feeling that had manifested in his chest when he heard what happened. He remembers the guilt and the voice at the back of his head telling him that everything was his fault. Because he’d known Pete was withdrawing into himself, they all did. But no one could have predicted what exactly that meant. Pete had given him life when he let Patrick into his band, and Patrick knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to do the same thing for Pete. 

Gerard’s watching him impassively, his face schooled into a serious expression. Then he inclines his head slightly. “I know exactly what to say to him.” Without warning, he turns around and walks back in the direction of Fall Out Boy’s bus. 

Patrick sinks onto the front step of My Chem’s bus, sitting there for what feels like hours. It’s a little colder up here, and he’s grateful he had the foresight to throw on one of Gerard’s leather jackets before stepping outside. Eventually, a shadow falls over him, and when he looks up, he sees that it’s Mikey. 

“How’s he doing?” Patrick asks. 

Mikey takes a seat next to him, Patrick moving over to give him more space. “Patrick’s in there with him, he’ll be fine.” 

“Patrick said you were one of the reasons he’s been so good recently,” Patrick tells him. “He said to thank you for that.” 

Despite the heaviness of the atmosphere, Mikey’s lips curl into a slight smile. It’s almost like the sun coming out despite all the tension. Patrick can see how much his words have affected Mikey, and he feels another stab of guilt for ever thinking that Mikey was anything other than genuine when it came to Pete. “He shouldn’t have to,” Mikey replies quietly. “I love Pete, but I don’t think anyone can love him the way Patrick does, you know?” 

“You love Pete?” Patrick echoes, smiling despite the knots that are still in his stomach. “You in lurve, Mikeyway?” 

“Fuck off.” Mikey rolls his eyes, but Patrick sees that he’s still smiling. “It’s weird,” he confesses. “I’ve never said it before.” 

“Is it all rainbows and butterflies, then?” Patrick asks in response, laughing when Mikey sends him a withering look in reply. The tension has decreased dramatically, and Patrick suddenly feels like he can breathe again. 

“Hey,” he says, remembering something. “Would you say I’m awkward?” 

“Yeah.” Mikey shrugs and Patrick thanks the universe for Mikey Way and his straightforward as fuck attitude. “You spent your formative years watching horror movies in our basement, dude. You’re not exactly the picture for healthy social interactions.” 

“But when I’m out there onstage, I’m so…you know.” Patrick flaps his hand in a very Gerard-like gesture. It’s kind of worrying how good he’s getting at those.

“Uh.” Patrick had no idea a monosyllabic word could sound so patronizing, but somehow Mikey manages it. “It’s called a stage persona for a reason. That being you aren’t actually like that in real life. Wasn’t that why we all thought you were back on drugs last week?” 

Before Patrick has a chance to process that, another shadow falls over the two of them, and this time, it’s Gerard. “How is he?” they ask at the same time. 

“He’s good, I think.” Gerard shrugs. “Okay enough to be asking for you, anyway,” he adds, looking at Mikey. “I told him I’d bring you over.” Mikey nods, and the three of them make their way across the parking lot. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, watching Mikey climb inside. “Try and keep this reunion G-rated, okay?” 

Mikey grins at him, and, wow, today is just full of surprises. There’s something Patrick thought he’d never get to see. “No promises.” Then he walks inside, the door closing behind him. 

“Fuck.” Gerard exhales as soon as they’re alone. He braces himself against the side of the bus. “I need a cigarette.” 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Patrick says, trying to inject the full force of his sincerity into those two words. “What did you say to him?” 

“Oh.” Gerard rubs at his forehead. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you know how fucked up I was before. Drugs, alcohol, just everything got too much, I guess. I wanted to kill myself at some point,” he admits, and Patrick’s eyes widen. “And I dunno, seeing Pete like that just reminded me of myself. I may have edited it to make it look like _Gerard_ told you, though, but…” 

He continues talking, relaying everything else he’s said, but Patrick can barely concentrate on anything other than the fact that Gerard did all this for Pete, willingly shared bits from his darkest moments just so he could help. Gerard, who is funny and kind and genuine and so goddamn _pretty_ that it hurts to look at him sometimes, who is nothing like Patrick expected, but somehow everything more. It’s like he’s got tunnel vision, everything narrowing down to just the two of them, and he does the only thing that makes sense at the moment. 

Patrick kisses him. 

Gerard makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t pull away. His lips are soft and full and this should be really messed up because those are Patrick’s lips, but everyone always says it’s what’s on the inside of a person that matters, and maybe this isn’t exactly what they meant, but Patrick doesn’t think words have ever rang truer than this instant right here.

Then Gerard runs his tongue along the seam of Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick lets him in willingly, pressing himself closer, trying to memorize the feel of Gerard’s lips pressed against his own. His hands are gripping the lapels of Gerard’s jacket, fists full of leather, and this is what finally makes him open his eyes in shock. Because Gerard wasn’t wearing a jacket this morning. _He_ was. 

Patrick pulls away quickly, and for the first time in a week, he finds himself staring at Gerard, not as a reflection, but face to face in the flesh. The euphoria at being back in his own body quickly drains away when he notices the unimpressed look on Gerard’s face. Patrick can feel the heat rising to his face in embarrassment, and he contemplates the possibility of the ground opening up beneath him. 

Then Gerard wrinkles his nose and says, “A kiss was the answer the whole time? Man, this is way more Disney than sci-fi.” 

“I don’t mind Disney,” Patrick mumbles. Then he blushes for real when Gerard grins at him. He has missed that smile. 

“Yeah, they do get some things right,” he replies, leaning in again. 

“Wait.” Patrick steps back, head spinning from all the different sensations. “You…your crush.” 

“It’s you,” Gerard answers patiently. “Why do think I’ve been trying so hard not to be so awkward around you?” 

“You’re _awkward_.” Patrick has officially lost the ability to formulate complete sentences. 

Gerard blinks. “Yeah… I’m awkward as shit, dude. You seriously had no idea? Did you find the way I rambled about comic books _sexy_?” 

Patrick has to practically stop himself from being honest because he’s fairly sure the answer would be something like, _Um, extremely?_ Instead he decides to start asking more stupid questions. “But onstage…and with me…?” 

“I guess being around you gives me the same thrill being onstage does.” Gerard grins wickedly. 

“You jerked off the night we switched bodies.” Patrick needs to shut the fuck up. He’s pretty sure his brain-to-mouth filter has completely disintegrated from all the shock. 

Gerard flushes a little, but the look in his eyes is still distinctly devilish. “You. Me. A tight enclosed space filled with comic books? It’s a fucking wet dream, man.” 

This is almost too much for Patrick to handle. He’s relatively sure his brain is about to explode. Then Gerard presses into his space and whispers, “There’s a hotel night in three days. What do you say we put those vocal exercises of mine into use?”, and Patrick makes some kind of needy sound and lunges forward. 

It’s more intense the second time around, a clash of tongues and teeth, and Patrick licks his way into Gerard’s mouth, trying to imprint in his mind the exact way Gerard’s lips fit against his own. He grabs onto the cotton of Gerard’s T-shirt, feeling the heat radiating off his body, focuses on how it feels pressed against him, and thinks maybe nothing will ever be as perfect as right now. 

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” 

Pete’s voice comes from somewhere behind them, and it effectively startles the two of them apart. When Patrick looks over at Gerard, he can see that he looks flushed and sweaty, his hair standing up in about fifteen different directions, and Patrick can only imagine what he must look like. 

“My eyes,” Mikey intones in a complete deadpan. But from where Mikey’s standing slightly behind Pete, Patrick sees an almost satisfied look come over his face. 

“How…how the fuck did this even happen?” Pete demands. “This is the weirdest fucking thing ever.” 

“I don’t know,” Gerard says, smiling at Patrick. There’s a gleam in his eye, and Patrick likes that no matter how things go, they’ll always have this to share between them. “I think stranger things have happened.”

Patrick laughs and presses a quick kiss to the side of Gerard’s mouth. He could get used to this, he thinks. He’s distantly aware of Pete and Mikey making a collective pained noise in the background. “I agree.”

—

Patrick counts the beats off in his head, then launches into the song, starting from the top. His arms ache like hell, his hands are sweating, but he needs to nail the chorus before the show starts. When the song ends, he immediately goes to start again. 

“Dude,” Gerard says, walking into the back studio. “Calm the fuck down. It’s _one_ song.” 

“You don’t understand!” Patrick wails from behind Bob’s drum kit. “I haven’t played in five years! This song is so fast!” 

“You _chose_ it,” Gerard replies incredulously. 

“Five. Years,” Patrick growls. How can Gerard not see how incredibly nerve-wracking this is? “I’m playing the drums with your band tonight, I cannot mess this up.” 

One of Gerard’s hands comes out of nowhere and grabs at the drumstick, stilling it. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning in to kiss Patrick. “You’ll be great. Will you relax?” 

Patrick’s body sags, the tension draining away. He hooks his fingers into the collar of Gerard’s shirt, and pulls him forward until their faces are centimetres apart. “If you can distract me enough,” he replies, grinning. 

—

That night’s My Chemical Romance show features Patrick Stump on the drums during “Thank You for the Venom”. Patrick has to admit, it goes really well. There are some tricky bits that require his total concentration, but after performing as their frontman for a week, Patrick is pretty content to be in the background for a while. In the middle of the song, he looks over and sees Pete sitting on one of the amps, watching Mikey with the dopiest look on his face. Patrick rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to make fun of Pete for that later. 

Then Gerard looks over at him from the front of the stage, smiles, and Patrick feels his own face take on the exact same expression. His eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of his head.

So maybe this whole thing won’t last forever. Maybe when all this is over, he and Pete will have to learn how to pick up the pieces from where they left off. But right now, this tour feels like it could go on for an eternity, and that’s good enough for him.

This is definitely the best summer ever.


End file.
